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Mary Elizabeth Mears: "Nelly 
Wildwood" 

By Publius V. Lawson 




The State Historical Society of V 
Separate No. 176 
From the Proceedings of the Society for 1916 



Mary Elizabeth Mears: "Nelly 
Wildwood" 

By Publius V. Lawson 




The State Historical Societj of Wisconsin 

Separate' No. 176 
From th<- Proceedings of the Society for L916 



^ 



*yy 



Mary Elizabeth Mears: "Nellie Wildwood ,, 



By Publius V. Lawson 

Several years ago I was selected by C. F. Cooper & 
Company of Chicago as editor in chief of a history of 
Fond du Lac County, and had commenced to gather 
material when other fields attracted the attention of the 
publishers and the work was abandoned. For th&t work 
Miss Mary Mears had furnished the recollections of her 
mother, Mary Elizabeth Mears, given below, written by 
Mrs. Mears in her seventy-second year as a remembrance 
to her family of three talented girls. During her long life 
she had written a great number of poems and prose 
articles, which were published in the press of the State 
and elsewhere under the nom de plume, Nellie Wildwood 
When she gave up housekeeping in Oshkosh she divided 
the clippings she had saved into three bundles and gave 
them into the keeping of her three daughters. 

In his article on "Early Wisconsin Imprints" 1 Henry E. 
Legler says: "The first Wisconsin book of verse was pub- 
lished at Fond du Lac in 1860. It was a pamphlet of 57 

1 Wisconsin Historical Society, Proceedings, 1903, 121. An earlier book of 
verse by a Wisconsin author is Elbert Herring Smith's Makataimeshekiakiak; 
or Black Hawk, and Scenes in the West. A National Poem in Six Cantos. The 
copy of this work in the Wisconsin Historical library was published at New 
York in 1848, and there is nothing to indicate that this is not the first edition. 
According to the recollections of Henry W. Bleyer, veteran Milwaukee journalist, 
however, the book was first printed serially in Milwaukee, the author's home. 
If Mr. Bleyer's recollection is correct Smith's work antedates that of Mrs. 
Mears as the first Wisconsin book of verse by at least a dozen years. 

[254] 

D. cf D. 
NOV 26 1917 



Mary Elizabeth Mears: "Nellie Wildwood" 

pages, by Mrs. Elizabeth Farnsworth Mears. The title 
was as follows: Voyage of Pere Marquette, and Romance of 
Charles de Langlade, or, the Indian Queen, An Historical 
Poem of the 17th and 18th Centuries. 

Mary Elizabeth Farnsworth was born in Groton, Mas- 
sachusetts, in 1830. She married John H. Mears, and died 
at the age of seventy-seven, in November, 1907, at the 
home of her daughter, Louise M. Fargo of Lake Mills, 
Wisconsin, and was buried in Riverside Cemetery at 
Oshkosh. Her married life was mostly passed in Oshkosh 
where all her children were born and passed their child- 
hood and youth. In December, 1908 I received from Mary 
Mears the following concerning her mother: 

I am sending you what details I can about the life of our mother. 

The genealogy of the Farnsworth Family which I enclose 1 may prove 
of sonic assistance, and the paper entitled "Recollections" was written 
by my mother in her seventy-second year. It is a quaint account of 
her childhood, the crossing of the country in those early days, and the 
final settling of the family in Wisconsin. While it gives briefly the 
story of her life in the bosom of her family, it tells nothing of her later 
experiences as a writer. From the examples of her writing which we 
have in our possession she appears eager, ambitious, and gifted to an 
unusual degree. Her play of "Black I lawk" which had a run of three 
weeks in Madison, is really remarkable in that it is truly dramatic and 
the characters essentially picturesque. She was the author of many 
fugitive poems and stories which appear in editions of the early news- 
papers of Wisconsin. But she is best known as the author of the play 
just mentioned and of the long poem. Voyage <>f Pere Man/mitt', and 
Romance of Charles de Langlade, <>r the Indian Queen. This poem IS 
connected with the early history of Wisconsin, and quite aside from 
its literary merit, is really valuable as an historical record. I remember 
often hearing her relate how extensive was her study of all the legends 

and history connected with the subjects she chose, before she wrote the 
poem. Had I no other evidence of her gift than these chance clip;' 
which 1 have in my possession, I would have no hesitation in Baying of 

1 \\'e omit t<> publish tin :i«-iii sketch referred t<». since it ma) 

found in much fuller detail in Moses F. Farnsworth (compiler . Farnsworth 
Memorial Being a I: Matthias Farnsworth and His Descendant* in An 

:iti, Utah, 1897). 



Wisconsin Historical Society 

her work thai it ifl picturesque, fresh, and often exceedingly quaint. 
She had the great gift Of enthusiasm and her poem written at the time 

when the Atlantic cable was first laid and the first message received by 
the new land from the old — is a cry of supreme exultation. I have not 
this poem in my possession — if I had it, I would send it to you. The 
faults of my mother's writing are those of the period, but this very 
sentimentality adds to the quaintness of her work now. She was 
known throughout the State and many poems were addressed to her. 
The well known song, popular in bye gone days, "When the birds shall 
return, Nelly Wildwood," was written to her. I should take pleasure 
in furnishing you with an early picture of my mother and also a photo- 
graph of a bas-relief portrait of her which my sister, Helen Farnsworth 
Mears, the sculptor, has just completed. It was finished the year of 
her death, and shows her just as she was in these later years. The 
eager intelligence and grace of the young portrait of her is even intensi- 
fied in her old age. Age came to her but it only rendered her more 
lovely. She has been called "a vanishing type." 

I have written you thus frankly of my mother, striving to give you 
those details of her career and the attributes of her personality which 
seem to me most necessary for record. Out of this mass of material, I 
hope you may find what you need for your work. 

A brief sketch of the activities of the members of her 
family will not be out of place here. 

Louise M. Mears was married to Frank B. Fargo of 
Lake Mills, Wisconsin. Before her marriage she illus- 
trated a number of books, the most notable of which was 
The Land of Nod, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

Helen Farnsworth Mears was born and passed her 
youth at Oshkosh, and obtained her education in the same 
city. Her first important work in her chosen profession 
of sculpture was the plaster-cast model of the "Genius of 
Wisconsin" for the World's Columbian Exposition at 
Chicago in 1892, for which she was given the $500 prize 
offered by the Wisconsin women's clubs for the best piece 
of art exhibited at the Fair by a Wisconsin woman. This 
model was afterward cut in marble, and it stood in the 
rotunda of the old capitol at Madison for many years, 
and now stands in the main corridor of the new capitol. 

[2561 



— 

VOYAGE OF J'KKK MAKQtKTTE, 



Homatuc of Charles De Cnnglaoe, 



TIM- IM)IA.\ aUEEK. 



roRlOL POEM OF Tiir I7TH ANI> W'( 



iiY m:i.i.' e WILD WOOD. 



FOND DO L\C: 

mnuun 'U»iyro«HniiR- . •• own*. 

mo. 



I II LE-PAGE OF MRS. MEARS'S FIRS! H« ■* »K OF VERSE 



Mary Elizabeth Mears: "Nellie Wildwood" 

Congress gave Miss Mears the commission for the statue 
of Frances K. Willard which stands in the hall of fame in 
the national capitol. It is the only representative of 
womankind among so many celebrated men, and a 
statue of a woman by a woman, both of whom passed all 
their childhood and obtained their education in our State. 1 
Miss Mears designed the bust of George Rogers Clark, 
presented to the public library of Milwaukee by the Sons 
and Daughters of the Revolution. For the St. Louis 
Exposition she designed the legendary study of life, an 
ideal subject, a large bas-relief wall fountain fourteen 
feet high, which was given a conspicuous place and 
awarded a medal. 

Miss Mears studied with Lorado Taft in Chicago, then 
in the art schools of New York and ateliers of Paris and 
Rome. For several years she was a student and assistant 
to Augustus Saint Gaudens. In Paris she won several 
medals, exhibited in the salon, and worked in the private 
atelier of Saint Gaudens, who was then executing some 
commissions abroad. In 1898 she established her studio 
in Xew York where she died, February 17, 1916. 

Mary Mears has devoted her talents and activities to 
writing fiction. She wrote a short review of her work in a 
letter to Belle Blend, then with the Milwaukee Sentinel, 
which was published in that journal, July 28, 1907, as 
follows: 

I was expected to write and I wrote, principally, I think in the first 
place, because my mother before me had written. My parents con- 
sidered that I had a picturesque and original way of using words, and 
when I was a little girl, I was set at story writing as my sister, Helen, 



l This statue was authorized by Congress in 1898. The commission v>>is 
given t<> Helen Farnsworth Mears, who designed the statue from a number of 
photographs. It was unveiled in February, 1905. A full-page half tone of the 

statue, accompanied by a brief historical sketch, is published in Harper's Weekly, 
Feb. 2."). 1905. 

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Wisconsin Historical Society 

was set at modeling, as our elder sister, Louise, was set at drawing. 
Our elder sister illustrated books while still young. Plelen modeled a 
bust while she was still a child in short dresses, and I wrote all but the 
five concluding chapters of my first book, "Emma Lou — Her Book," 
between the ages of 13 and 17, while I was still a schoolgirl. Later 
when the book was published by Henry Holt, I added, at their sugges- 
tion, the last five chapters which make it a love story. 

During the progress of "Emma Lou" I wrote many short tales. I 
wrote for a sensational paper in Chicago that paid me, as I remember, 
about $4.00 for a newspaper page of the finest print. My stories were as 
sensational as the imagination of seventeen years could produce. I 
remember one was called "His Strange Eyes" — it closed with the hero's 
leaping from a housetop into the darkness of night. My first short 
story to meet with marked success was published in Harper's Bazaar. 
Afterwards I published it in the leading magazines. My best short 
story appeared in Harper's Magazine in 1900. It is entitled "Across 
the Bridges." It was written immediately after my return from 
Europe. 

The achievement that marked my efforts was at times easy, and at 
other times difficult. My first book, "Emma Lou," I wrote with no 
conscious effort, as a child plays. The short stories were more difficult, 
for I sought constantly to use the fewest words possible in telling the 
tales. It seems to me now that I put very little of myself into them. 
They are, with the exception of two or three, objective studies. "The 
Breath of the Runners," I believe, is the most individual work I have 
done, therefore I consider it a greater achievement than anything else. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF MARY ELIZABETH MEARS 

(Written in 1903) 

My earliest recollections are of going to school, held 
firmly by the hand. I was in charge of the teacher and to 
reach the red schoolhouse we had to climb a high hill. 
The teacher's little nephew was on her other side. He was 
a few months older than I, but we were both babies, being 
less than three years old. My only recollection of that 
time is of this little boy's being allowed to escort me home 
one day, the few rods beyond where the teacher lived. 
Our house was fenced from the road and had a ditch drain 

[258] 



Recollections of Mary Elizabeth Mears 

skirting the road. Before the gate was a bridge. For some 

reason we thought it would be best to cut across Iota and 
climb the fence to reach our bouse. 1 essayed, with my 

small escort's help, to cross the ditch, which was then full 
of water. Into this water I fell, flat on my back, and being 
very fat I "stuck." The wails we both set up brought my 
frightened mother to the rescue. Never shall I forget the 
awful sensations of that disaster. 

I know I must always have gone to Sunday school, for 
my parents were strict churchgoers, but my first imp] 
sion of what life really meant and of its responsibilities and 
duties came one day when my father had gone to a funeral. 
We children were playing in an old barn or woodshed, 
where there was a large carpenter's workbench under 
which the floor was of smooth, black earth. We were 
engaged in driving all the nails we could find in patterns 
into this soft earth. We none of us had a doubt that this 
disposition of the nails was all right but suddenly a man 
on horseback darkened the door and seeing what we were 
doing began chiding us severely on the enormity of our 
offense. He was a perfect stranger to anybody belonging 
to us, and had merely come to see our lather on busim 
Nevertheless we listened to him with all our ears, and 
fear gradually filled our young hearts. lie spoke of our 
awful sinfulness generally, of the dire necessity of our 
always being good or God would heap woeful penalties 
upon our heads. Finally he pictured graphically the fire 
and brimstone which would be our element in the future 
state. lie seemed on his black horse like some terrifying 
messenger of warning. I was thrown into childish hyster- 
ics, which my mother, when she returned, was long in com- 
forting. I know she had to take me into her bed that night 
and it was very late when my sob- d, and even after 

sleep came 1 could not forget. Nor have I forgotten now. 

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Wisconsin Historical Society 

From my second until shortly after my sixth birthday 
the red schoolhouse (schoolhouse number two it was 
called) was a mecca to me. I believe I studied well and 
learned easily for I received a card when I was two and 
a half years old, testifying to the fact that I had learned 
my alphabet at that age. Before my seventh birthday my 
father concluded to sell the old homestead, which had 
been left him by his father, Sampson Farnsworth. I re- 
member hearing that this grandfather of mine had married 
my grandmother in his latter years, being at the time the 
father of a large family of children, but my father, Mat- 
thias, was the only child of this second marriage. Certain 
things come back to me vaguely, but young as I was, I 
appreciated that we were leaving the place connected 
closely with our blood for generations past, and I re- 
member distinctly how wrought up was my childish 
mind, when with two brothers and a sister older than 
myself and our father and mother and also a young man 
who was going west with us to share our fortunes, we 
took the stage at the old door. I was the only one of the 
family ever destined to see the place again w T ith its wide 
granite doorstone and the enormous willow waving its 
graceful branches to us as if in farewell. 

From Groton with its low peaceful hills, its old Inn 
and its church spires, from Groton where slept so many 
of our name, we went to Boston or to Providence where 
we took the cars for a few hours, but here my memory 
fails. The only impression left upon my mind is one of 
strangeness. The next that I remember was our being on 
a boat — a canal boat which was attached to a pair of 
horses by long cables. The horses were driven along the 
bank by a man who went beside them on foot, and dragged 
the boat with its load of passengers, at no very great 
speed, as may be imagined. I remember we used often to 

[2601 



Recollections of Mary Elizabeth Mears 

go on shore for various reasons, but always on our return 
we found our boat-home no farther away than an ei 
walk. Indeed, I seem to remember that there was much 
talk of a "break" on the canal, and that we were days and 
days too long in reaching our destination. But, by devious 
ways, I distinctly remember our arriving at the city of 
Detroit, where my mother, worn out with the advent i 
declared that she was tired of the ways of locomotion we 
had tried so far, so my father decided on purchasing a 
team of horses and an emigrant wagon large enough to 
contain not only ourselves but our goods and chattels. 

How we children enjoyed those days of travel through 
a virgin country and untrodden forests where now and 
then a little clearing with a log cabin appeared: These 
were the homes of people who had preceded us from the 
eastern states. We stopped where night overtook us, 
sometimes traveling hours over corduroy roads, which 
were made by the cut trees which lay in lines just as they 
fell, in order to reach the cabin of a settler before [light. 
These settlers always generously shared with us what they 
had, and how we children enjoyed the warm greetings of 
the lonely families, the ample suppers, the babble and 
confusion attendant upon our arrival. Our mot I 
talked rapidly together as if they were lifelong Friends, 
and we children at once became acquainted with the 
boys and girls in these wayside cabins. We must have car- 
ried a great many provisions with us, for there was always 
much private conversation, our mother taking the women 
of the house aside, and what we ate was always much 
the same as we had when by ourselves, and there were 
always dishes which we children especially liked as well 
as the small people of the other family. 

Sometimes we stopped for a day or two. There was 
plenty of game in the forest or "oak openings 91 and 

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Wisconsin Historical Society 

my father was an enthusiastic hunter, when he found 
a congenial spirit, it was easy to persuade him that we 
all needed rest. He was an ardent bee hunter also, and 
understood perfectly the habits of the busy creatures. 
One day, I remember, he noticed near the cabin where 
we were stopping that bees were humming around the 
door. It was second nature for him to watch them and 
he noticed them continually flying away and returning 
at very short intervals, always taking the same direction. 
He procured some sugar and, producing the anise-seed 
extract, a bottle of which he always carried in his pocket, 
he wet the sugar with it and carried it in the direction they 
went. He deposited it on a log or stump and lay down a 
little distance away. Soon it attracted the attention of 
the bees. They would crawl over it a few seconds, then 
fly off, and after they had gone he would carry it in the 
direction they had taken and again deposit it. They 
would return, again forsake it, and again he would fol- 
low as they led until very soon he located the "bee tree," 
for these intelligent little creatures store their honey in 
the hollow trunk of a decayed tree. This "bee tree," of 
course, he marked with the little hatchet the hunter 
always carries. Then he returned hastily to the cabin, 
to which he found his way readily as he had blazed his 
way as he went. He whispered something to the man 
of the house and they went out together. Now my father, 
when he saw the bees working at the flowers, had told his 
host what he expected to find, but he must go alone, he 
insisted, for a bee hunter must be very quiet on their 
trail. When, however, the tree was located, the man 
could be of assistance. And what rejoicings when we saw 
them returning with the treasure. Pans and pails were put 
in requisition to hold the well-filled comb which they had 
chopped the tree down to get, with great precautions 

[262] 



Recollections of Mary Elizabeth Mears 

against being stung. But even so many of the beCB fol- 
lowed them, for these little creatures resent bitterly their 
domain being intruded upon and fight furiously to pro- 
tect their hoarded sweets. So, as I Bay, many of them fol- 
lowed my father to the eabin, and loud screams from a 
little barefooted boy told that one blow had been struck 
by the fallen foe. It can scarcely be understood in th< 
days what excitement and pleasure this find of honey 
brought to the lonely household; how pleased they were, 
for it was no easy thing getting delicacies then; they had 
to journey miles to get the necessary provisions, and then 
what care to make the stores last as long as possible! 

The charm of this journey is still with me. The early 
start in the morning when the dew lay on the grass and 
the trees, the heartfelt goodbyes to the old-new friends, 
then the weary plodding of the horses under the midday 
sun, and, finally the gathering of the purple evenings 
when the air was sweet with bird calls, and when we 
slept either in the wagon in sound of the horses cropping 
grass, or, as has been related, in the home of some set- 
tler. 

When we reached Chicago I remember that we were 
"sloughed," as it was termed, in the principal street. Tins 
was in 1837 and the fact has always been related with 
gusto by each member of the family, inasmuch as an- 
other team had to be hitched in front of our own to gel 
us out of the deep mudhole into which we had sunk. 
From Chicago we continued to our destination which < 
Fox River, Illinois, a point equally distant lour mil 
from what were the cities of St. Charles on one side and 
Elgin on the other. 

Here my father bought a farm under very little culti- 
vation, on which there was a log cabin with a high chimney 
built of sticks and filled up between with the mud of the 

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country. And here began our life as pioneers — my 
mother, a delicately nurtured woman, unused to hard- 
ships and privations, and my father fresh from his small 
farm and orchard in the town of Groton, Massachusetts. 
What life meant to them can be imagined. Our first days 
in the log cabin are still fresh in my mind. It was built 
on a slope of ground on the bank of the wide, noble Fox 
River, known now the world over, and on the opposite 
bank was a dense forest coming almost to the waters' 
edge. Our house was over two miles from any human 
habitation. The nearest town was four miles distant, 
but no supplies, to any amount, could be obtained nearer 
than Chicago. Enough supplies for present use we had 
brought along, but we needed a cow at once. One had 
been heard of as for sale some four or five miles away. 
A man of whom we had stopped to inquire the way said 
that he had heard that a band of Indians were camping 
at "Cold Spring," which was on the farm quite near the 
cabin my father had bought. But as nothing was seen 
of them, after a day or two, the necessity of milk being 
great, it was decided that my father and this man should 
take the horses and start early in the morning and return 
in time for breakfast. Therefore, my mother kept it 
warm for them. I remember she was just stooping over 
the "bake kettle" (a wide fireplace took up one side of the 
cabin and held all the cooking possibilities) when suddenly 
the six-paned window was darkened and the face of an 
Indian squaw, which just fitted into the space where one 
pane was missing, looked in upon us. She gazed steadily, 
and my brother and myself gave one scream and threw 
ourselves upon our mother, almost pitching her into the 
fire. I suppose the face was instantly withdrawn, for we 
saw nothing of Indians that day. But we all huddled 
together in affright until my father and Andrew Hubbard 

[264] 






Recollections of Mary Elizabeth Mears 

returned, triumphantly leading the row. After that 
became acquainted with the Indians, who were very 
friendly, bringing up presents of wild game and borrowing 
my father's guns which they knew how to use, though 
most of the warriors carried bows and arrows, with which 
they were expert marksmen. 

What wonderful possibilities those days held for a man 
who loved to bring down big game! I saw my father 
stand on the bank of the river and shoot a magnificent 
deer which had come down to the opposite bank to drink. 
He came swiftly with branching antlers held high, push- 
ing his way among the trees, emerged on the narrow strip 
of sand and stooped to drink, when the fatal bullet laid 
his graceful form low. Never shall I forget the way he 
turned, ran fleetly with his head still up, then stumbled 
and fell dying. My agony was great and my father, 
indeed, shared it. He said he had not dreamed of hitting 
game at such a long distance, but the hunter's desire to 
try was too strong for him. So our days were tilled with 
the excitement of the pioneer's life. There were the 
strange friendships with the Indians, the beads given me 
one day by an old squaw, the strange sight of seeing an 
Indian clothed only in a high hat, otherwise stark naked, 
riding like the wind on a horse through the forest the 
things that made us laugh and that made us weep, the 
things that sometimes froze our blood with apprehension. 

I recall one incident of the winter season that will 
always stand out in my mind as fraught with living tern 
The spring was approaching and my father was anxious 
to start his sugar camp as soon as possible. To do this 
he would enter the woods on the opposite bank, clear B 
space and set up his kettles over fires. There \wis much 
talk as to whether the sap had yet Started in the maple 
trees, and finally one mild day my father with another 

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man decided to cross the river and examine them. Before 
the house the river was a clear blue expanse quite free 
from ice. We had heard rumors that above us, at the 
bend, the ice was breaking up, but the sun shone so 
mildly, the river looked so innocent from our door, that 
my father decided to go across and make his investigation. 
He did so, taking a small boat. About eleven o'clock a 
man came running up to the house. He cried out his 
message: "No one must go across the river. The ice is 
piling up at the bend." Then he ran on. My mother 
immediately sent us children down to the banks, and in 
a few moments she joined us. Already the water in the 
river was overflowing the banks and the air was filled 
with the crashing, the grinding of mountains of ice. We 
stood there in agony and ever the noise grew more 
deafening and slowly, one by one, and they were not 
very large, pieces of ice began to appear. They came 
very swiftly, borne along by the hurrying current. Then 
it was we raised our voices all together: "The ice! The 
ice! You can't get across." My father and his com- 
panion could see us indistinctly. They knew from the 
sound that the ice was possibly breaking, but no messenger 
had warned them of immediate danger. They only 
thought, when they saw us on the bank, that something 
had happened to terrify the tiny group of mother and 
children. So, despite our entreaties, they took to the 
boat. In vain our calls, "The ice! The ice! You 
can't get across." The words were lost in that growing 
thunder of crashing ice. And they began to pole swiftly 
towards us with all their puny strength. Our agony, as 
we watched, passed all bounds. Never shall I forget the 
voice of the ice, the shaking of the bank, and more than 
all else, the look on my mother's face. Little and lone 
and defenseless, we all prayed as we stood, prayed as 

[266 1 



Recollections of Mary Elizabeth Mea 

babies and women pray with all our hearts in the words, 
"Save them God, save them." And on and on came the 

little boat, so tiny, so puny in the midst of the wide river. 
Suddenly with a mighty crash as though the foundations 
of the universe were giving way, down came the ice - a 
piece which fdled half the river. As if by a miracle it 
glided back of the boat, cutting oft' from the two men all 
possibility of retreat. Then they bent all their strength. 
The boat glided forward, an enormous piece of ice at that 
instant came down on our side of the river and for an 
instant lodged against the bank. Quick, quick the men 
crawled from the boat onto this piece of ice, they ran 
fleetly across it, and as they jumped onto the shore, the 
mighty ice block continued, thundering on its course. 
The boat was shattered before our eyes to a million bits. 
And we — we stood there and we knew that God wns good. 
We lived only a year or two on this farm. The pioneer 
life was too hard for my mother. The farm was sold and 
we moved to St. Charles, but we did not stay there long. 
The schools were poor, and my brothers wen^ growing 
up. Racine was looked over but no business location 
suited, and Fond du Lac was finally settled upon 
offering facilities for the manufacture of farm machinery. 
And in Fond du Lac we all lived until one by one the 
children married. 



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